hair

(Frolic as you please)

Sniffling weakly, letting go a stifled cough, Dante steps into the Asylum for work. Having to lean against the closed door, back hunched. A hand comes up to his mouth, coughing harshly into it. He was pale, but no where near as pale as he was the night before, blood stained and dieing. Staggering over to the counter, he let reflective ambers glimmer down at the receptionist. Pausing only a moment before handing her his coat, revealing the man in orderly clothes, he headed off to a random wing, that did not smell like sick or of bile.
So Bored

"Grocery" run

*Ted slipped out of Rosie's after full dark, tucking one slip of paper into his pocket and scrutinizing another by the light of a streetlight. He had offered to go grocery shopping for Rosie (and the rest of the house), and was also going to make a little run up to the clinic Oracle had mentioned. The piece of paper he was looking at was a set of mapquest directions there (so who knows how reliable they'll be). The other paper was the shopping list he'd put together. Glancing around to orient himself, he started off into the night.*

((Feel free to reply with anyone he runs into on the Gotham streets at night, or anything your character wants on his shopping list if you live in Rosie's house.))
hair

(Frolic as you please.)

Dante stepped casually in the front door of the Asylum, hair before his face, shoulders slumped as usual. Glints of light peered behind his hair, eyes searching for some kind of office door. Up to the counter he went, ignoring the call bell to his side. He stood, all six foot five and two hundred and ten pounds of him, looking down at the receptionist behind her white painted cage screen.

"Doctor Crane."
do you believe

Harleen's Return

Rosie and Harleen appear in Jonathan's office. Rosie leans against the desk, more pale now than she had been. "Nothing's gone terribly wrong, I don't think. The students have been having fun trying things out with the patients, and fortunately Mister Dent and Miss Kyle have been very patient about it."

Internet cafe

Edward (people called him Eddie, but he preferred Edward--more dignity to it) Nigma sat before one of the little internet cafes that had sprung up throughout Gotham, at one of the cluster of tables that had been placed out on the sidewalk. The afternoon air was at just the perfect point between warm and cool, dry and humid, and one of the trees that grew in planters in the sidewalk along that street kept him pleasantly shaded. Traffic was light at that time of day, little more than a low hum, like an enormous metropolitan white-noise machine. On the table in front of him sat a sleek powerbook, on whose screen a cube rotated, twisted, and folded as it moved through something he was working on as an upcoming project--a sort of study in alternative geometry that would make the Rubik's cube look like an alphabet block in terms of sheer mental challenge. Although at the moment, it looked like a really neat screen-saver.
not a little girl any more.

(no subject)

Narcissa knocks on Rosie's door, a box on her hip. Inside are her shrunken suitcases, a small box, and some other knick-knacks she's picked up along the way. She blows her hair out of her eyes and waits for Rosie to answer, shifting from one foot to the other in her excitement.

She feels terribly grown up.
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